Wicked Magic
Page 17
“You have nothing in common,” Adrian replied. “You’re steeped in black magic.”
“Strange how you deplore me, yet you yourself have many marks against your soul,” said the black mage.
Adrian didn’t flinch.
“We are not here to compare scores,” Damien said smoothly. “I assure you, you will lose. In the interest of expediency, I suggest you answer our questions.”
“I have no information for you, vampire.”
“Perhaps I have not made myself clear.” Funny how Damien could make such a mild tone sound so threatening. “You answering would be the expedient route. However, I have cleared my schedule for the whole afternoon, and I assure you that I have plenty of creative ways to extract the information I seek.”
“You may try.”
Nathan thought that challenging Damien was a foolish idea. When vampires had been alive as long as Damien had, they tended to get rather bored with life. They also had an awful lot of experience to draw on. Bored and creative was a dangerous mix when it came to torture.
Jeremiah handed Damien a key, before heading for the stairs.
“Do recall that someone has to clean up your mess,” he called as he walked off. “The last person who had to clean up after you was traumatised and had to have their memory erased.”
“I shall endeavour to improve on my previous performance,” Damien replied in what was probably as close to a flippant tone as the man ever got. Nathan shuddered.
“Will the boy watch as you torture me?” the mage asked with amusement. “You induct your hunters young these days.”
“You think I can’t take it?” Nathan asked boldly, irritated that the mage had singled him out as the weak link.
“You will not,” the mage said certainly.
“We’re not inducting him,” Adrian said, coming to Nathan’s rescue as usual. Nathan felt another surge of irritation. “He can come and go as he pleases. And if he pleases to watch you suffer, well, that’s his due. Your friend nearly killed him.”
“He doesn’t seem like such a vengeful soul,” said the mage.
Nathan took out one of his knives, playing with it in what he hoped was a casual way. “How can you tell?”
The mage laughed. “Ahh, you are trained by hunters, but you act more in the fashion of the original hunterkind. It is written in your aura, the mark of the druidēs. They upheld peace and balance, not vengeance.”
What?
“Humans don’t have auras.”
“Perhaps not to your eyes, but to those trained to see it, it is there,” the mage replied.
Nathan glanced at Adrian, who looked as dumbfounded as he felt.
“Don’t listen to him,” Adrian said. “He’s just trying to distract us.”
“Why would I?” the mage asked. “I have no interest in postponing my torture. The Sahir are trained to be unbreakable.”
“Seeing as you are so confident,” said Damien, “Let us begin.”
He unlocked the cell door without a care for the prisoner trying to run away. Why would he be bothered? No human could run faster than a vampire. Adrian entered the cell and Damien locked the door behind him again. Nathan felt his stomach turning in anticipation.
Did he really want to see his uncle torturing someone? Half of him said yes, because maybe then he could go back to hating vampires. Whatever the answer was, he steeled his shoulders.
“Question number one,” Adrian began in an affable tone. He had a knife in his hand suddenly, and Nathan hadn’t seen where it came from. “What do the Sahir want in Oxford?”
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are all-powerful.”
“Wrong answer,” Adrian said mildly. Then he backhanded the mage. The resounding clap of flesh on flesh only met Nathan’s ears several moments after his eyes had processed what had happened. The mage’s whole body flew sideways, and a red mark bloomed instantly on his skin. He righted himself, smirking.
“The Sahir are strong,” he repeated. “The Sahir are all-powerful.”
Adrian twirled the knife.
“I wonder how all-powerful this Sahir will feel when he’s missing a few fingers?”
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are all-powerful.”
“Trust me,” Adrian said without a hint of impatience. “I heard you. What do you want with the shapeshifters?”
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are all-powerful,” the mage repeated. It was becoming his mantra. Nathan had been trained in basic techniques for resisting interrogation. Repeating the same words over and over had been part of the training.
Adrian didn’t seem concerned. He raised the knife and then, too quick for Nathan’s eyes to register, there was a line down the mage’s arm. It cut through two of the tattooed cuffs around his biceps.
“Who is giving you your orders?” Adrian asked.
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are all-powerful.”
Then Adrian punched the man. His head flew back and slammed against the wall, and it was the first time that he showed any sign of weakness. It took him several moments to right himself. His mouth was bloody, and he spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the floor.
“You will break my body before you break my mind,” he promised.
“I’d hardly count that as a loss,” Adrian said. “Nate here’s quite adept at knocking out your mates. We can always pick up someone else.” He launched the next question immediately. “Where is the headquarters of your operations?”
“More will come, stronger will come,” the mage said. “The boy will die. His death will be on your conscience.”
“I don’t have a conscience,” Adrian said agreeably. “Ask Nate, he’s constantly complaining about it.” The knife flashed. Blood welled up from the man’s forehead and cheek, obscuring one of his eyes. Nathan’s stomach turned.
“Why is the Witch Council protecting you?” he asked.
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are—”
“All-powerful, yes, yes, we got that,” Adrian replied, sounding bored. “If they’re so all-powerful, why haven’t they come for you yet? I’d have thought the all-powerful Sahir could get one guy out of prison.”
The mage spat blood again. He didn’t wipe his face. “The Sahir are too complex for your simple mind to comprehend.”
“Ah,” Adrian drawled. “Is that your way of saying they’re not coming for you? They’ve left you to die.”
“No one is greater than the whole,” the mage said.
“Well, you’re certainly not.” Adrian hit him again. Nathan’s stomach turned again.
“Why do you want the shifters?” Adrian repeated his earlier question.
“The Sahir are strong. The Sahir are all-powerful.”
Adrian crouched down right in front of the mage. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but penetrating. Nathan thought you could cut glass with that tone.
“I see you haven’t quite grasped how this is going to work yet,” he said in a powerful approximation of Damien’s easy manner. He played the knife over the man’s neck. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “I have time.”
The knife barely flicked, and Nathan’s brain seemed to shut down for precious seconds. When it came back, he registered blood, so much blood, and then the wound, raw flesh. Adrian had literally sliced a chunk out of the man’s arm.
“The Sahir are strong,” the mage repeated in a hoarse voice. As if he’d been screaming, except he hadn’t. “The Sahir are all-powerful.”
Nathan couldn’t take it anymore. He backed away. Damien heard him and turned to look. Nathan forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.
Damien nodded to him, as though granting permission. Nathan retreated, desperate to get out of hearing distance before he regurgitated the contents of his stomach. He didn’t want the mage to know he’d been right.
Nathan was the weakest link.
Adrian found him outside, at least an hour later. Aodhán had shown Nathan the way out and provided him with a bottle of Lucozade. He
was sat on the railing going up to the Mound, his legs dangling over the side.
Adrian leaned beside him, picking blood out from under his nails.
“It’s okay, you know.”
“It’s not okay,” Nathan replied.
“It is okay,” Adrian disagreed. “Hunters kill because it’s necessary, not because they enjoy it. Not wanting to watch someone being tortured does not make you weak.”
“What about feeling guilty because I killed a man who tried to kill me?” Nathan asked.
“That makes you human, Nate.”
Nathan kicked his foot against the fence support and felt it bounce off. Again. Again.
“Cynthia’s not talking to me,” he said at length. “What if she’s scared of me, now?”
“Then she’s an idiot,” Adrian said. “You saved her life.”
“She’s human,” Nathan pointed out. “Humans are scared of people like us. Because we are capable of killing.”
“People like us?” Adrian asked.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think you just put you and me in the same box,” Adrian said. “Nate, I think your logic is flawed. You’re worried you’ll become me, but the truth is, we’ve never been the same. The only thing we have in common is that we were both equally talented. But I was arrogant. I went for initiations immediately. I pursued bigger and bigger prey. I got reckless. You’re not like me. And the truth is, you probably never will be.”
Nathan stared unseeingly at the ground below him. Finally, he pushed himself off the fence to land on the flagstone floor.
“It wouldn’t be terrible,” he said, “Being like you. You’re strong.”
“Thanks to circumstances,” Adrian said. “I think you’re doing okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I can’t let it lie,” Nathan said. “The hunters might not protect the right people.”
Adrian reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’ll work it out.”
Nathan ducked away from him sheepishly. He wasn’t sure he liked Adrian complimenting him. It felt off. His own father didn’t seem to believe in him, but Adrian—the vampire—did.
“I can’t believe you played the vampires off against the witches like that,” Adrian said. “That was smart. And brave.”
“What, the hospitality comment?” Nathan asked. “I didn’t even mean it the way it came out.”
Adrian shook his head. “You are rubbish at taking credit for your own abilities, kid.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NATHAN RAN HIS TOWEL over his forehead once more and stretched his shoulders. The gym was almost empty. It had been a good session, the first really good one he’d had since his injury.
“You’re back on form,” Adrian remarked.
“Finally.” Nathan shoved his towel in his bag. “That knife really took it out of me.”
“Never again,” Adrian vowed.
Nathan frowned. “Had any luck with the mage?”
“Not yet. I know Damien was down there today.” Adrian looked grim. “Never met someone who Damien couldn’t crack.”
Nathan shifted. “Maybe we need to find another way.” A better way, he wanted to say.
Adrian’s gaze was dark. “Leave it to us. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“But I do.” His phone buzzed. Nathan pulled it out and saw the time. “I have to go, it’s almost dinner time.”
“Want a lift?”
“No thanks, I’ve got my bike.”
Adrian nodded. They picked up their bags and meandered out. As they went, Nathan idly checked his messages. Monica was being awfully chatty; her way of dealing with her worry.
Nathan: I met a druid
Nathan: He hates witches
Monica: Holy shit, like an actual druid
Monica: They died out like a thousand years ago
Monica: Course they hate us, they never could do real magic
Adrian laughed when Nathan relayed the conversation.
“Aodhán is something else. He creeps me out.”
Nathan shrugged. “Most old vampires creep me out.”
“Yeah… but you’re food.”
It shouldn’t have been funny, but they both laughed. Nathan hit Adrian on the arm. They reached his bike and he unlocked it.
“See you soon?”
“Text me,” Adrian replied.
“Sure.”
A week into November, it was starting to get cold. Nathan cycled briskly through town, dodging the traffic, and soon pulled up at home. The sweat turned cold on his back when he saw his Dad’s car.
Oh fuck.
He locked his bike and reached for his phone, but before he could ring Adrian, the front door opened.
“Nathan, is that you?” Aunt Anna called. “You’re late—your parents are here.”
“Why?” Nathan stepped into the light from the front door, trying not to give away his panic. His hands were sweating. “I thought they weren’t coming until Jess’s birthday.”
“It was unexpected. Come in, they can explain it to you.”
Nathan trailed his aunt into the kitchen, running over a thousand different reasons why his parents might be here. He was unable to shake the feeling that they’d somehow found out about his friendship with Adrian. That would be the worst.
“And where have you been?” His father was sat at the head of the table, in full uniform, looking painfully imposing.
“Training,” Nathan said. His father frowned.
“Training?” he asked. “You didn’t have training today. It’s Sunday.”
“I train on my own, now,” Nathan reminded him. “Sundays are a good day to train. The gym’s pretty empty.”
“What about homework?” his father asked.
“What about it?” Nathan asked. “I did it yesterday.” Except bio, but no need to tell Dad that.
Aunt Anna set a plate of food in front of him. Nathan tucked in hungrily. “What are you doing here?” he asked between bites. “How long are you staying?”
“Nathan,” Aunt Anna chided, “at least say hello to your mother.”
“Hi Mum.”
Nathan’s mother had long blond hair which she always wore in a strict ponytail, and she was sturdily built. She could probably pick Nathan up. He wasn’t sure about his odds in a fight against her, not that he wanted to fight his mum, anyway. Would she ground him if he won? Would she be proud? Nathan’s mother had never expressed any kind of affection towards her children, that he could remember. She had never been the sort of mother to kiss scrapes and bruises better or read bedtime stories. Aunt Anna had done that.
“Hello, Nathan,” she replied. “How’s school?”
“Fine, thanks.” Nathan turned expectantly to his dad.
“We’ve been called here by the Council,” Dad said. “They need us to look into a few things. It might keep us in town for the next few weeks.”
“Oh,” said Nathan. His stomach was making a concerted effort to tie itself into knots. “What’s the business?”
“Classified.”
“Come on!” Nathan scowled at his plate. “Everything’s always classified.”
“I can’t discuss Council business with non-Council members, Nathan.”
That was what Dad always said. Nathan gritted his teeth in irritation. Nothing ever changed.
When his parents were both there, they always became forcefully involved in everything, and conversely, everything in Nathan’s life got ten times harder.
Mum drove him to school the next morning, but Nathan couldn’t think of a word to say to her. He checked his phone instead and found that Cynthia had messaged him.
Cynthia: My mum is driving me CRAZY
Cynthia: Ughhhh
Nathan: Anything I can do?
Cynthia: Can I come over tonight? Just for a bit?
Nathan hesitated with his fingers over the keyboard.
Nathan: Sure, but my parents are here
Cynthia: O.O cool. Will they mind?
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Nathan: Maybe? But come. We can always go out to the pub
Cynthia: Thanks!
“Can I have a friend over tonight?” he asked.
“You’d better ask Anna,” Mum said. “It’s her house.”
“She usually doesn’t mind.”
“And that means you don’t need to do her the courtesy of asking?”
Nathan huffed. “Fine, I’ll text her.”
Aunt Anna was fine with it, of course, but the more Nathan thought about it, the more stressed out he got.
“Matt, have your parents met Poppy?” he asked during a spontaneous bout of nerves at lunch.
“Maybe?” Matt asked. “I think Mum did, for like five seconds on her way to work one day. She was pretty cool with it. Why? You thinking of introducing Cynthia to Anna and Jeff?”
“No, to my folks.”
Matt had never met Nathan’s parents, but he’d certainly heard tales. His eyes went wide.
“Um, you sure, mate? That seems serious.”
Nathan shrugged. “I like her.”
“Wow, how’d that happen?” Matt asked, bemused.
“Not sure,” Nathan said. “It just did.” He thought about it for a moment. “I guess it just makes sense.”
“Lucky,” Matt muttered. “Nothing about Poppy makes sense.”
Dad picked him up from school. When Nathan climbed in the car, his father held up a hand for silence. A voice was emanating from his phone, which was mounted on the dashboard.
“…know Jeremiah’s hiding something.”
“We’ll crack it,” Dad said. “Anyway, Patrick, I’ve got to go. I’m picking my son up from school.”
“That’s alright. I’ll ask June to pull those photos for you and leave them on your desk.”
“Bye,” Dad said. He hung up and turned to Nathan. “How was school?”
“Fine, same as always.” Nathan buckled his seatbelt. “Who was that? Patrick Longhorn?”
Patrick Longhorn was the head of the Hunter Council, Uncle Jeff’s boss.
“It was,” Dad said reluctantly.
“Was it about the case?”
“Nathan, that’s enough.”